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Vice Blog

NEW YORK - BUTTHOLES AT WORK


Today at work I aspirated a granola bar and started choking to death. The first noise heard in evidence of the choking was a phlegmy intake of air mixed with crumbs, and then me hacking like I have your dead grandma's emphysema. All the guy sitting next me had to say about it was, "Dear, Lord!" I knew at that moment that I could very well die in a nubby, fart-stained office chair and no one would bat an eye.

This led me to think of other startling things that I have encountered in office settings throughout the years. Well, not really an office setting at all, but one time I was working at a coffee shop and was washing dishes in the back room while the manager, a fat blonde lady named Camille, was counting the safe. Camille was bent over, stretching her black work pants to full capacity while straining to put the trays of coins back in the safe, when she ripped a hole in the otherwise silent room with the force of her juicy fart. Hearing an adult fart, when you yourself are not an adult yet is traumatizing.

I began to fixate on other work-related butthole emissions. Later, when I haunted the halls of many an office, I picked up on the fact that for whatever reason, it seems like business casual attire goes hand in hand with not wanting to flush your feces down the toilet. I would, from time to time, find myself standing in front of a brightly lit toilet bowl filled with someone else's Weight Watcher's and try to match up the size and shape of the turd with a face that I passed in the hall. It's amazingly easy to do.

KELLY McCLURE